Replacable
by ThatClutzsarahh
Summary: It only takes a single look. He somehow always knew.


Replaceable

**so this is sort of a companion fic to Runaway (m) and it was a Peter centric fic. This is my view on how they deal with things. This is OUR Olivia's way of dealing with everything in my opinion. If you want, you can check out Runaway which is the Peter centirc fic of this type.**

She showed up at closing time and found him locking the doors.

"Well isn't this a pleasant surprise?" He said, looking up from behind the glass. His deep brown eyes looked into her seas of green and somehow, somehow in that _instant_ he knew just what was wrong.

"You got stuck there didn't you?"

And that was all it took for her to just fall apart into a thousand molecules, to fall into _putty_ in his gaze. She was a wreck, a _mess_. He let the doors open and let her in, sliding past him in a form of a wrecked train, a beautiful mess of long blonde hair and some haunted seas of green.

She just wanted to feel something. _Anything._ She felt tired; a weariness that ached deep in her bones that she supposed was from crossing over. But tired wasn't what she meant when she wanted to _feel._ Right now, she felt _nothing._ And that was why she was here, to see _him,_ because he can fix her. She was _broken_.

"So why are you here?" he asked when they had managed to stumbled into the lobby of the bowling lanes. In truth she _didn't_ know why she was here. _She didn't know why she was here_. She was _replaceable,_ her double had showed her that. So she guessed she was here because she wanted _someone_ to care, to tell her that _she_ couldn't be replaced. But he wasn't going to tell her that he _cared_ because that wasn't his job, he was there to show her _wo_ cared. He was there to tell her exactly what she _didn't_ want to hear.

"Who was she?" he asked her as he brought the mop out of the bucket, "The woman that took everything. By the look on your face I'm guessing you knew her. So what, your sister? A best friend? A cousin-"

"Me," she answered him, her voice clearly annoyed.

"Well that certainly throws a kink in things," he answered in his cryptic manner. It's a manner that both annoyed and yet soothed him. He tossed her a rag and pointed her in the queue stick direction as he continued to mop up. She headed toward the queue sticks and took one, running her hand along it with the towel.

"You have no idea," she answered him, unsure what she would want to say. She wanted to talk, but _talking_ wasn't coming. Words were there, _certainly_ there, but she could form them.

"Agent Dunham," he said, catching her attention, "Why are you here?"

_Because I don't belong._ She wanted to say this, she wanted to _tell_ him, everything. She wanted to tell him anything she wanted him to tell her, _anything_ she wanted to hear. She couldn't decipher her own words and he could _always_ decipher her. He knew, he _always_ knew. So why is he asking her, _why didn't he know?_

He had come up behind her then, sensing her reserve. She had put down the queue stick and rag and was leaning against the pool table, staring at the ground.

"You don't know why you are here," he says, and it's more of a statement than a question. For the first time that night she dragged her eyes to meet his, her glittering pools of _vacancy._ She didn't know what she _wanted_ any more. She didn't know what she wanted the _most_.

She wanted a lot of things. She wanted a family, a husband, a nice home and a happy life. She wanted a full night of sleep. She wanted the warmth the sun offered. She wanted a nice car and new clothes She wanted to forget everything. She wanted to replace time. She didn't want to go through all this again. She wanted to come back with _him_ and not let _her_ ruin everything. She wanted many things, a great many things. But none of them would ever happen. She wasn't going to get them. She'd _never_ get them.

By the time she had regained her focus, he had pulled her to the alley and handed her a pair of shoes, bowling ones, and was standing by the lane, flipping back the bumpers for them to play. She watches him with void eyes, _void_ as the night sky was of stars. He didn't even once give her the look she was waiting for. For once someone didn't _pity_ her. And she felt strangely comforted by this.

"So where do you wanna start?" he asked, throwing the ball down the lane with perfect precision. "The head or the heart?"

"I thought you said you were no good with matters of the heart," she answered, standing after she had laced her shoes.

"Yeah well," he answered as she stood to bowl, "This time they're kind of one in the same, aren't they?"

She rolled the ball down the lane and hit two pins on the right. He had rolled a perfect strike.

"You don't give me very much to work off of, Agent Dunham," he said as he took his place where she had stood. He bowled yet another strike. She remained silent as she headed for the lane.

"He told me," Olivia said, eyes concentrating on the lane, "She was quicker with a smile. Less intense."

This time her ball went straight for the gutter. She sighed and slouched back to her seat. He looked at her and sucked in his lip, the way he did so ever so often, before standing up and getting the bowling ball.

"You want to know two things," he answered, rolling the ball over in his fingers, "One, what the hell does that mean?" He bowled yet another perfect strike. He turned around and dusted off his fingers. "And secondly, Agent Dunham, you're wondering if he liked her better."

"He loved me," Olivia snapped as she stepped up to bowl.

"You keep telling yourself that," he answered, "But you don't believe it, do you?"

She bowled six pins down that time. His words cut like a knife. He was right, of course. Why should she believe herself in believing in him?

"No," she answered, turning back around to sit. He stood up, a slight swagger to his step and bowled yet another perfect strike.

"My guess is you've snapped at him," he answered, "And you should have."

She looked at him and nodded, but didn't say anything. She got up and twisted a smooth blue bowling ball in her hands as he sat down and leaned back.

"But you feel like it wasn't right. Which is why you aren't sleeping."

"He didn't even look sorry," she said, dusting her fingers on her slacks, "I wasn't her. How could he not see that?"

"Did he have a reason to even suspect that you weren't her?" he asked, standing up and standing next to her. Her face dawned a new realization as he took a bowling ball from next to her.

There was no reason for him to suspect there was something wrong. What would he have seen anyway, if there were a reason? That she had a tattoo? It was more than likely covered up. He had no reason to doubt her existence. And what if he had doubted? Would that mean he hadn't really felt the same in the first place? If he had doubted their relationship, then what did that mean when she had come back? Olivia dropped her eyes to the ground and he handed her a bowling ball.

"And with honesty comes truth," he mocked as she stared at her feet. Had she really been so uncertain of herself? Of Peter? Had she been hard on him?

"What would you have done," she said, staring down the wood lane, "If you were me?"

"Exactly the same thing," he replied easily, "But I wouldn't have myself to tell me what I really wanted to know."

"What did I want to know?" Olivia asked, rolling the ball down the lane. It wavered in the center before veering off to the left again and striking down the left pins.

"What you've been wondering, Agent Dunham," he said, "Do you still trust Peter Bishop?"

He knew her well. Too well. She smiled the briefest of smiles as he took the ball in his hands and bowled another strike. She knew the answer to that question, and she also knew that he didn't mean "trust" when he said it. He wouldn't say love and she knew it. But she knew he meant it and that was enough to make her smile. She did still, of course, love him so much. It was the reason for the tears, the reason for the anger and the reason for the rage. She went up for her turn and touched the smooth ball in her small hands. Her fogged mind felt clear for the first time in a long time.

Olivia Dunham bowled a strike.

"I think you know the answer to that," Sam Weiss said.

"Take care, Agent Dunham."


End file.
